


Familia Vineam

by sinunamor



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family Drama, M/M, More Romance countries to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinunamor/pseuds/sinunamor
Summary: As a silk merchant, Wang Yao made comfortable living along the trading routes of Sīchóu Zhī Lù. As a Roman slave, he finds himself in an unusual position tending to four unique (and very high maintenance) Roman boys and their equally unique, high maintenance equestrian father.





	1. Vendidit

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an rp started by Josey V, a talented and awesome writer who unfortunately couldn't continue due to personal circumstances. First few chapters will be considered co-authored with them. 
> 
> A special thanks to fellow Hetalia writer on ao3, bulletincookie, who helped me with the title and summary and who will I go to and bother for Roman history.
> 
> Some mature themes, historical accuracy on the "ehh" scale of general wanna-be historical fiction fanfiction. Honest reviews, constructive critiques are always welcome (cough, especially in the topic of more accurate/reasonable names, cough) and kudos are a plus! Thanks for reading!

If he could close his eyes, he could take himself back to the familiar old village nestled between cool green mountains. Silver singing of hanging chimes from gentle breezes. The home that forever smelled of damp earth and distant smoke. If he tried hard enough, he could hear the sinuous river that hugged the edges of mountains churn violently in the spring months and then rush smoothly as the autumn chill approached.

Dark waters that could drift endlessly, lap gently on the gravel shores, then dash across boulders and storm fearlessly over cliffs.

His back teeth ground on each other inside his clenched jaw. The familiar sounds of his bold and steady river were easily drowned out by harsh outbursts of the men before him. Their voices loud, deep and flat to his ear. He could not allow himself to close his eyes. He stood, clinging onto the last bits of dignity he was fortunate to have. It was all he could barely keep.

Like his home river, Wang Yao had traveled over great, unsteady distances. He was never sure on what he’d encounter next, being forced into chaffing ropes and walks over earth; plains, deserts and jungle. He traveled under scorching suns and limitless starry skies, each step taking him far from what he once held dear. His river was his road home. Before the weary trek, he was stripped of who he was. They took away his clothes and shoes, his books and brushes, his merchant cart, silks, teas, and spices. They took away the welcoming embrace of his children, his entire livelihood. They disregarded his name, his language, his humanity. Instead, he was made to bear the marks of his captors, scars inflicted on his skin and scars he carried within.

The merchant faced his end on the same road in which he created his life. A cruel fate for a trader to become traded himself, amid a jostling Roman plaza, on display along with the meat and horses.

Streams of people of different color and origins, the Daqin as they were called by his people, flurried from one booth to another. Yao anchored his view on a crowded basilica in the distance, above heads where he stood on a raised platform, ignoring the buyers below. Their faces blurred together in a desperate mess of men. He could never cast his eyes down. The voices grew louder and the numbers went higher.

The last bid could have made Yao wince.

Slavery wasn’t a new concept to him. He was well aware of its existence, for it was as common as the trade of spices and silk. He had seen many deteriorating others be sent away, to be owned by another. It was a concept that disgusted him, being a silk merchant with the independence and power of a free man, but it was a fact of reality he had accepted and thus ignored. What an awareness these past few months gave him.

Daqin men, young and old, shouted fervently for a chance to own him. Their mere persistence was enough to make Yao shudder.

“500 for a slave from Serica!”

A slave from Serica, as he was called by the Daqin, was a rare sight to behold. For all the shabby splendor, his ragged tunic, raw wrists, and bony figure, he was exotic to those who never stepped out of the confines of their already diverse empire. It did not help that, framed by cascading locks of dark silken hair, was a face that was pleasing and soft to look at, like petals of a favored flower. Effeminate features were curiously desired here as it was in his homeland, so it seemed. A man of his age, years of being pursued by different men in his youth and being hungrily sought after now, Yao continued to remain unimpressed.

“1,000 denarii.”

“Sold.”

He knew that word Latine. He had picked up on the Daqin language in his days as a merchant and his toils as a newly captured slave. The words themselves made his tongue roll around in strange ways. But it was the way it was announced, through the familiar shrill bark of his captor, that made Yao snap his view and forget all he was fighting for.

He looked downwards and met the eyes of the man who now had the right to his life.

* * *

 

And from Rome comes a man whose name is manifested in power and money. A proud Roman man of great stature, strong jaw and thick hair that curled at the ends. He was a legend of his own right, radiance earned and bestowed, taking part in the expansion of the Roman Empire faithfully under his emperor’s command. A noble deed for his patria. As a soldier who served under the most formidable of legions, he rose in fame and rank.

He was given the name Marcellus, after the commander he so boldly protected in a campaign towards the East. And with such dealings, he made acquaintance with many traders along the newly establishing trade routes that brought in wealth in form of spices and silk. He returned to Rome a hero and equestrian. He shed his bloodied past with a place in good society as a bright business man who has made connections with many outside the empire.

That was who Octavius Marcellus was in name, but to a blessed few he was Romulus, the man who smile was the morning glow. An antithesis of a free Roman man who had manus, total control over his household, children and slaves including.

For he was a deviant, a twin son who came from a humble family of glass blowing plebians. A husband who shared manus with his beloved wife and a loving father who loved his sons to no end.

And he made sure none of his more intimate circles of senator friends knew about it. For what they were allowed to know was that Octavius Marcellus was a bold and brave Roman, a lover of wine, young men and women and a future senator himself.

But what came in abundance can be snatched away in an instant. When his youngest son was born, death came to his wife days after. The babe was the healthiest child yet but it took a toll on dear Helena. It was the most devastating event to Romulus; the bold woman was the only person he placed full faith and trust. He became less of Romulus and more of Octavius Marcellus.

Without Helena, the household was becoming difficult to manage, especially with his recent purchase of a villa to grow grapevines. So, instead of doing something rational like hiring a skilled plebian to manage domestic affairs, Romulus was purchasing more slaves to maintain his domus and villa.

Romulus was on the outer skirts of the auction, the sights and unpleasant smells only added to the excitement. He was mildly interested. Almost, not quite, that is until the crowd of Roman citizens seemed to have riled up for one slave in particular. He used his power and color of his toga to his advantage. He wanted a closer look so the crowd made room for him. Then, he understood why.

She was beautiful. A gorgeous youth from Serica.

Romulus smiled, quite pleased himself, as he met the eyes of his most recent purchase.

* * *

 

Yao immediately broke the unprompted gaze when he felt a familiar weight fall on his arm. Immediately, he tensed up and stood nearly paralyzed.  It just encouraged his captor to hold him even tighter and lead him more forcefully out, his back away from the disappointed men. He hated this reflex, he felt belittled every time he grabbed him like so, but it was better to fall deceptively numb when enduring a session of continuous sharp pain and ragged breathing.

“Go,” the loathsome captor ordered, ushering him off the platform and into the closed market space where they temporarily kept shop. Yao stumbled in his step. “You are going to strip in front of your new master so that he will know exactly what he is buying.” The captor and his cohorts stood by with smirks and a perverse sense of regret for letting such a slave go. The Roman currency pleased them more.

Romulus didn't hold the pleased smile for long. He pushed along the dispersing crowd. If he wanted to keep distance and certain level of respect from the common, lower ranking men, he must remain composed and hard with an air of cold austerity. Even if acquiring a beauty like the Seres youth made him feel light and strangely giddy on the inside. Feelings that he wasn't all too familiar with since the death of his wife.

With those feelings sealed behind a stoic face, he walked towards to where his slave was lead. He gently pushed a sun bleached hanging cloth that separated the shop from the rest of the market. His left hand pressed to his abdomen, coming in with importance.

Upon recognizing his buyer, Yao slipped out of his clothes, the sorry excuse for a tunic. He felt as though his sense of modesty was virtually nonexistent at this point. His body had been exposed and used countless times, there was no use in blushing or trying to hide in embarrassment, no matter how shameful he felt each time.

Taking his place in front of his new slave, Romulus’ eyes landed on the unaffected youth's beautiful face and then down the bare chest and lower still.

Oh.

Romulus felt his face heat up from embarrassment, more so fluster. Now he fully understood the rancor behind his bidding. He was a man who bore feminine features, a prized look among his people. A beauty all the same.

Yao felt a smug satisfaction from seeing the Daqin man shocked and flustered because of him, if the brief shock and flush was of any indication, yet he did not let this show. He stood tall and waited for the man to finish gawking.

Romulus shook his head. In retrospect, the Seres did have rather broad shoulders and his strong eyes was a masculine trait of his. And he had no breasts but that did not bother Romulus at all to begin with. He cleared his throat and approached him to inspect him himself as if he truly just was another slave and not some person bought out of noble whim and fancy. He prodded his ribs. He paused, feeling the other flinch and tense up. Romulus furrowed his brow but continued on his inspection. Too skinny. Any other slave, 1,000 would have gotten Romulus an army of these types. He felt his biceps and shoulder muscle. Still a household slave, no vineyard work. Checked his mouth. No sign of disease. And his eyes. Romulus furrowed his brow, his hands softening around his jaw. His lips. Romulus' thumb itched to run it's pad over those lips. The slave’s mouth briefly twitched downwards.

Yao had a mind to keep his look as calm as he could, but he could not help but inhale deeply when the man looked at him like so. Obviously, him being male wasn’t a problem, but it made his insides twist with worry. He both wished and not wished to know what the Daqin man had in mind for him.

Romulus shook his head and cleared his throat before stepping away. "1,000 it is," he told the auctioneers. No attempt to lower the price, for he was not at all disappointed. The land the Seres beauty came from was a land of awe and mystery. The treasures kept within was worth so much more than 1,000 Roman coins. On the brighter side of things, he had gotten a deal.

Even if with the current expansion of the empire that brought the price of slaves down.

He discussed with the auctioneers over payments, occasionally glancing at the men surrounding his slave like a child challenging others when they got too close to his favorite toy. Yao was the least bit appreciative at the newfound invisible barrier he had between himself and the brutes of his captors. Even as he stood naked, he knew that they wouldn’t dare lay a finger on him anymore. It was a moment of relief he clung onto quite needily.

Romulus then ordered for him to be dressed immediately, which Yao gratefully complied. And at long last everything was settled. The contract was signed with a firm wax press of Romulus’ gold seal ring. An insignia that bore the image of the god Apollo on his sun chariot surrounded by laurel leaves. A non-refundable purchase sealed in the first family patriarch’s name, Apollonius Octavius.

“Does he understand Latin?” he asked. “Has he shown any skill?”

“He understands plenty,” the captor explained. “He was in fact a merchant before his boss sold him to repay some dues.”

Yao furrowed his brow. How he wished he spoke plenty of Latin to expose the brute of his lies. He could tell them of the senseless pillage, the bloodshed and the trauma forced on Yao and his fellow merchants.

“I wouldn’t take his introvert nature as a weakness, he is especially clever when he wants to be,” the captor finished.

Romulus glanced at Yao, who was fuming in the inside. Romulus figured that Yao appeared to know more than what he let on.

“Very well then,” Romulus answered. “Expect the first payment within a month.”

* * *

 

It went well enough. Romulus has paid 1,000 denarii for a slave who was experienced, educated and while he had not given proof of skill, it was something he was willing to gamble on. The fact would be hard to believe since the Seres man looked so young. He must have seen 25 summers at the most and yet he was a merchant. A business man like himself. He has picked up on Latin and Romulus was sure he could learn more.

And their circumstance was rather perfect, for his other household slaves have been in disarray, creating factions amongst themselves. Everyone doing their own jobs their way for there was no one constantly there to overlook the household. And without thinking it through he believed the Seres man could be the one to do it, to organize Romulus' chaotic mess. Another gamble.

It was only until he stepped into the public eye again that the first hint of regret churned in his stomach. 1,000 denarii. He was done with shopping for that day. Like the auctioneer had described, the youth was introverted. He dared look back, his regret prevented him from having any will power to not do so. There was hidden strength in his eyes, and so was there intelligence. But what if in the end the money was spent in vain? So much can go wrong, a clever escape, an unsuccessful breaking in…

His steps were soundless on the paved streets in comparison to Romulus’ proud old military click.

"Your eyes must be cast down in public," Romulus ordered in a firm voice. "Do not attract any attention to yourself."  _You do enough already_ , he wanted to add. He continued walking, feeling as though he made his point.

Yao furrowed his brow and tucked his lips in a lame attempt to calm the dizzying storm of snarky remarks and insults in his head. He was expert however, at holding his firey tongue. His knuckles white, pale and tight.  _You attract enough attention yourself what with you marching and peacocking around the streets,_ he burned to say. In spite of this he lowered his eyes, a better way to hide his venomous glares and not risk injured pride by being scolded in public.

Romulus continued his way out of the plaza and out of the congested areas of the city where he walked at a more leisurely pace. Confident that the Seres youth was trailing behind him, he did not look back. He furrowed his brow. It was tempting, why did he have to be so quiet?

His eyes darted to the side, his own want to see his slave betraying him. Romulus grunted and shook his head when he twitched to look back, ridiculous as it all was.

"You will address me as Octavius Marcellus,” he stated after he cleared his throat. “You will be probably be placed as a common household slave until I figure out what to do with you. Your previous owners said you were a merchant. I will see to it that it's fully explored."

Yao had to relax his shoulders slightly. Household work usually meant less strenuous work in the heat, however, it also meant that he will be in his new master’s presence constantly. Yao dared not let out a heavy sigh. He did not want to give the man a satisfaction of any submissive response.

"For now, you will attend to me when I am at home,” Romulus continued, making Yao’s lower lids twitch up. “When I am away you will work around the house assisting other slaves."

Romulus supposed it was a good thing, for the slave to remain quiet as he spoke, but his silence also read as stubbornness and soon he was wondering whether this pleased him or not. He gave in quickly and glanced back, his proud brow rising in curiosity. The youth appeared calm and stoic as ever. Unreadable, beautiful and mysterious.

Romulus decided to be more direct with him. “What is your name?”

“I am called Yao,” was his response, his voice strong and tonal in strange places. He was loud enough for the Daqin man to hear. Latin was easier to understand when the words were direct and simple to him. Yao was called clever for a reason, he had done a much better job picking up on the strange language than most. It wasn’t his second language either.

“Yah- _Yào_ ,” Romulus tried, the vowels smooth in his Roman tongue. He knew it sounded off in his slave's ears as well as own. He contemplated briefly over the romanization his name before coming to the sudden realization that him pronouncing his slave's name correctly should be no cause for concern on his part.

Any another day, in any other time or circumstance, Yao would have been genuinely amused.

He briefly looked up only to see the Daqin man looking at him with a sort of want of approval in his eyes. Romulus turned around quickly to hide the fluster in his cheeks to seem imposing and stand-offish. Yao gave a soft snort at that.

Romulus had heard many names from Serica, all of them, complicated and rich in tonal inflection. He had expected something similar from the beauty. Nothing as simple or as elegant as Yao. A romanization of the name would surely mar it. Whatever it meant, whether it was a fitting name or not, he knew no Roman name can equate to the simplistic beauty of Yao.

Although Pulcher, Atellus or even Labeo would have suited him just as nice.

"Very well then," Romulus concluded, now a short distance from his domus. "No one will find it hard to pronounce that name." He wanted an excuse to keep saying it.

Yao inwardly gave a sigh of relief. He was going to be allowed to keep his name, not that he ever considered having his own name a privilege but having it so close to being replaced was something terrifying to say the least. His own name had become the last of his connection to his homeland. He allowed himself a firm nod in gratitude.

* * *

 

At long last, he led him to the front of his city home. A far from humble domus, it was more simplistic than most surrounding it. Perhaps the choice in style was remnant of Romulus’ more humble beginnings. Outside was a closed store and nothing more. The interior was still impressive however, the atrium was well lit and beautifully crafted. Romulus entered with a slight puff to his chest, like a bird showing off his uniquely crafted nest to a potential mate.

Yao’s stoic expression gave in to one of awe and interest, even nearly tripping on himself to see the symmetrical beauty of the house. Yao appreciated that broad detail immensely as it reminded him of the palaces in his homeland. Everything fit in place and had purpose. The disheartening fact about it all was Yao would probably never ever return home with stories of this place. Little faces brightening up, refusing to believe his fantastical stories he personally lived through as real.

Romulus had a sort of pride showing this section of his domus off. Plenty of skylight spilled through the open areas of the room, painted scenery of Roman campos adorned the plastered walls. An elaborate shrine dedicated to Juno stood where a beautifully crafted bust of a woman was placed. If one was more attentive and religious enough, the woman carried more offerings than the goddess herself. Some of which curiously came in form of small wooden toys, dried flowers, pieces of colorful silk, a fig with a small bitemark and a parchment which held a crudely written message.

Romulus’ footfalls on marbled floor echoed off painted walls. The doorman closed the door with a loud click and knocked on the surface 3 times to announce their master's return.

Yao stood in silence nearby where Romulus had sat on a bench near the fountain.

The Daqin man dipped his feet in the small fountain that was in the middle of it all. Soon, a male slave older than Romulus and Yao walked in with a cloth and a change of sandals. He greeted him before helping him dry his feet. Some few slaves entered the atrium to receive him. They were walking but from their appearance it was clear that they ran here.  Yao furrowed his brow at this.

The slaves were to take the damp cloth and dusty sandals away, yet before they made another move, Romulus held his hand. "Bring my sons and the others here, I have an announcement I wish to make." It was then that the other slaves took notice of the newcomer before them. Some were visibly shocked and awestruck. Others simply stared. Romulus frowned. "Well, go on!" he barked. The slaves spared one more look before walking off.

The older slave stayed behind. "Boss," the older man muttered softly in their language. He had an accent himself, a man of Greek origins. "May it please you to let us know what happened to the couple of stallions you were supposed to buy at the market today?” Romulus closed his eyes and hummed, keeping his arm pressed to his abdomen while a faint blush covered his cheeks. 

“Remember we needed to breed the mares at your villa this year?" the man continued. Romulus still hummed thoughtfully yet managed to keep a composed stance.

Yao’s brow furrowed even more. From a merchant’s perspective, this was a rash decision, a foolish gamble no less. A well-bred horse brought in more profit than Yao could. He could doubly reassure of the Daqin man’s utter folly by killing himself that night, although Yao himself wasn’t so rash or spiteful to that extent.

"There had been a change of plans," Romulus answered, turning towards the sound of a greater amount of footfalls echoing the atrium walls.

A diverse group of about 15 slaves surrounded them, all well fed and well clothed. Amongst them stood a group of children, all ranging between his teenaged years to his first year. Their faces did not blur into the group, Yao noted, and it wasn’t because of their extravagant toga or even the way they stood.

The second youngest of them, one with lighter hair and straighter locks, looked directly at Yao and sheepishly hid behind his nursemaid’s skirts. Yao gave a small huff of amusement.

“Pater, she looks weird.”

Standing next to the shier one was a child who could have been his twin had it not been for his dark curled locks, darker olive skin and confident stance. He stood taller than the younger, perhaps some 2 years older and with a brow that matched his father’s. “Why did you buy her?” he bluntly continued.

“A whore?”

Now standing taller than the rest of the children was Romulus’ eldest, a young teen with sleepy eyes and uncombed dark curly hair that was certainly a common trait in the Octavius bloodline. He yawned. He was blunt and strong like his younger brother but with a face that was unlike the rest of them. A softened brow, much like the woman who bore them. He sniffed casually, uncaring yet honest.

Yao wasn’t so sure what to make of this introduction, a welcoming if he could ever call it this. The youngest Octavius son, a babe of a year old, seemed to have also added his input by babbling happily and reaching a pudgy hand out towards Yao, interrupting the tense awkward moment. Yao felt uncomfortable, feeling as though he had been put on display again.

For all his days of being passed from trader to trader, for his nights in cramped carts and unbearable weather. This… this was wholly different.

 


	2. Doleo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan is to update every week, but I am not so sure on how well I can manage that. Longer chapter this time to compensate.
> 
> A special thanks to all who left kudos and comments, you don't know how much that helps! And an ayy to my homie bulletincookie.  
> Honest reviews, constructive critiques are always welcome (cough, especially in the topic of more accurate/reasonable names, cough), kudos will help this writer get a much needed writer power boost. Enjoy!

The eldest son’s comment did not exactly offend Yao as it was the most probable reason behind his purchase, however, it did not stop Yao from being painfully aware of the sudden silence and feeling all the more exposed.

Even the old Greek slave had to blink a few times to process what had just occurred.

Romulus' brown eyes narrowed on his eldest. In reality, he did not know what to feel. Insulted for his sake? For Yao's? As the patriarch of the household, Romulus must maintain order and control. If he showed any kind of weakness, he would not have it and dinner parties with his senator friends would be disastrous events.  His wife was the one who took order of things around the house while he was free to continue work outside the home. Now that Helena's memory remained in their hearts and marble bust, Romulus was beginning to realize who was in fact in charge this entire time.

He inhaled proudly. He must show that he was capable. That he did not do things on a whim, that he most certainly planned things out beforehand. That he had... order and control.

"Your father does not call upon an audience to present a whore," he frowned, his voice deep and authoritative. "Keep your silence until I have finished speaking."

The slaves could care less, they were just intrigued by was the presumed whore's looks. In any case, Hercules made a very intelligent observation in their eyes.

Romulus turned to his slaves. "This is Yao and he is to be head of domus," he announced. Yao’s eyes widened in disbelief.

A foreign slave to be their supervisor? The other slaves knew better to keep their silence no matter how ridiculous he was sounding.

"He has experience managing a business,” Romulus continued. “So I am confident he can manage this household.” He nodded at Yao. "And report directly to me, understood?"

Yao had to will himself to not shake his head in opposition to what the Daqin man now expected for him to do.

A collective "Yes, Octavius Marcellus" affirmed that they understood clearly. Romulus seemed pleased at this. "Give him a week to settle in. He is still new to this land but he understands us well. Instruct him accordingly."

He hung his arm to rest on his toga as the other hand inspected Yao's clothes, getting a sort of reaction from the Seres youth. A bold furrow of his brow to which Romulus responded with a small nod.

"Get him out of these filthy clothes, bathe him, dress him in one of my old tunics from my chest. The ones I don't use anymore,” Romulus ordered. A couple of female slaves dutifully set out to do as told, leading Yao into the bathing room by a way out and through the peristyle.

Yao made a reluctant look back, catching a softer smile on Romulus’ face, turning only when he heard the women hiss among themselves, talking as if they truly believed he couldn’t understand them.

“A maro. He did not even give him a Roman name. He called him head, but certainly the young master was right. Marcellus promoted a pretty little whore.” They tugged him along to a heated bathroom, adjacent to the kitchen.

Perhaps they did know he understood them.

* * *

Romulus motioned for the children to stay. A rare occasion for him to approach his own children these days. The frown returned as the eldest children appeared unfazed.

"This will be the last time you disrespect me in my house," he stated, looking at sleepy eyed Hercules and strong browed Romano.

“What did I do?” Romano huffed. He pointed at Hercules accusingly. “He was the one who called her a whore.” He paused. “I mean him.” Romano did not know what “whore” meant.

“I’m sorry pater,” a rosy cheeked Feliciano peered from his nursemaid’s skirts, the shy little thing.

Romulus softened his stern look. “My son, no,” he said. “I was talking to your brothers.” He rose a brow, finding a reason to scold him anyway. “Don’t hide behind her like that, come forward like a man.”

Feliciano obeyed, slowly and unsurely.

Romulus gestured toward Hercules. “You on the other hand are practically a man, I expect better from you.”

Hercules shrugged casually, as if he had better things to do. To judge Hercules by his relaxed posture, dreamy, low voice and call him dimwitted would be shallow and unwise. Brilliant by nature, he had taken an interest in philosophy, Greek poetry and the arts. Yet his lethargy had reason. Much has changed since Helena’s death.  “I was merely stating what everyone was already thinking,” he answered. “You cannot expect us to see you bring home a beautiful new toy and not be surprised when you promote him to head of domus.”

 _So he had his mother's spirit_. Romulus was all too aware of it, not that he discouraged it. As a matter of fact, before Helena's death, Romulus took a sort of boastful pride in his son. Other sons of his senator friends were not as thought-provoking or as clever as Hercules, yet none of that fatherly surge overflowed his chest this time. It was certainly disrupted by his annoyance. In fact, he was so irked out of his mind that he was suddenly concluding that Hercules stole his wit.

Romulus pursed his lips, straightened his toga and furrowed his strong brow even further. "You have little faith in your father," Romulus finally answered. "I hired Yao out of necessity and that is my final word."

He frowned at all his children. Feliciano subconsciously took one step back, the only one who still believed in his “strict father” façade. "And as with all slaves I expect you treat him with respect. He is not here to fancy any outrageous requests. It is my word, then his. Understood?"

“Yes patrerm,” they chorused.

With a satisfied huff, Romulus turned to their oldest nursemaid. “And what of Marcello?” he inquired.

“He is asleep Octavius Marcellus,” she answered. Europa was an old slave without the seniority and whose voice and mannerisms were most unlike a proper nursemaid. With her, Romulus was certain Marcello had lulled himself to sleep with his tears that day. An unfortunate widow who once slaughtered cattle alongside her now-dead husband, she had a stern way of handling the children. Romulus had at one point coddled his sons to death but only grew self-conscious by the way he was raising them once he became more involved with his circle of senator friends. He reasoned that her occasional heavy swats gave his sons something to fear. Nothing too exaggerated of course, his boys were generally well behaved in his eyes. The other nursemaid, younger and more kind in comparison and Feliciano's obvious favorite, remained quiet.

Romulus gave a sound of approval before turning his heel and walking straight to his tablinum, a finely decorated and well-worn private office. He dropped onto his couch with a sigh, briefly wondering what sort of tunic his slaves gave Yao.

If it was a slightly ragged tunic then he can conclude that they are jealous. If they gave him an old favorite tunic then... well, it only meant that they tried to prepare him as if he were truly a treasured whore of his. Perhaps the tunic choice wouldn't be good sign of his slaves' happiness. He sat in his office and decided to think of more pleasant things, like how good Yao would look in any tunic either way.

* * *

“I only care about his cooking,” Romano commented, furrowing his brow in that defiant way of his. A picky eater and a fussy child, he always had difficulty with people. Bonding and trust were exclusive to a few nursemaids, his father and brothers, while his aggressiveness and salty disposition were a free for all, depending how willing Romano was to get along with someone that day.

“I will keep an eye on him on the meantime,” he huffed. “If he makes Marcello cry then we have problems.” He was also a type to be extremely protective of his younger brothers, taking his role as second oldest brother seriously and only deeming himself worthy to pick on the younger ones.

“And-and I…“ Feliciano began to pipe up, only to pause and really, truly think about what he expected from Yao. Admittedly, he did not know what to think of the new head of domus, only that he was strange and hard to read. The slightly chubby child liked to think the best of everyone and was more than willing to grant strangers the benefit of a doubt; much to his father's displeasure, hence a small amulet he wore as a necklace to guard him from the "evil eye" and child predators.

"I... I will just stay outta his way," he concluded, not all satisfied with his own answer. The boy was under constant intimidation of his brothers who were clearly more clever than he. At least, this is what Feliciano thought. The boy was in subconscious pressure to prove himself worthy of his dear father's praise, especially when his attentions on him had fallen short.

“I’m interested in seeing how things go,” Hercules folded his arms, looking on at the direction his father went. He truly did not care for the real reason why Romulus bought Yao. What his father did on his own time was none of his business. For all he knows, all of the men and women who passed through his father’s bedroom doors were only seen once and never heard from again. It was a bit of a change, having a “toy” be present at all times, but with himself tucked away in the garden attending to his many cats, he would not be bothered. For all the shallowness of Romulus’ past exploits, Hercules knew that father’s heart was always reserved for mother.

_He doesn't speak proper Latin! What is this? A whore as head of domus? Look at his eyes, how strange! He squints in the shade! Beautiful and strange. Heard that the boss did not even give him a Roman name. I have a name for him Mora. Yes, a strange name for a strange being._

Yao sighed contentedly and sank deeper into the steamy water. What a blessed luxury it was, to have a warm bath in a closed room. He fluttered his eyes shut as he sank just beneath the surface. The water masking his face in a clear, soothing way. He could die now with a thousand regrets but at least for now he would go momentarily happy.

_Baba!_

Yao sat up again gasping for air. He stabilized himself by grasping onto the rims of the basin before taking a deep breath. He pushed his wet locks aside like black curtains. He sighed and rubbed the water droplets around his face in circular motions, the minor adrenaline rush dying out quickly. He was done with the bath for now. The dirt he left behind in the water will be thrown out.

Awaiting him was a clean dry towel and an invisible flutter of speculation for the man from Seres. Sophus, the oldest and most attentive slave who aided Romulus first at the door, passed Yao a clean change of clothing. Sophus was an unspoken leader amongst them, and while his loyalty with Romulus was genuine, he knew he couldn't be the one bring order to a place that wasn't so orderly to begin with. He kept his silence and helped Yao when he struggled with his tunic.

Yao didn’t realize how weak and limber he appeared. His bones poking out in an unslightly manner, his cheeks clean yet slim. Curse the mirror. Now he wondered why Romulus was attracted to him at all when he knew he looked handsome when he was filled in and healthy. His hair now shining in all its dark brilliance, framed a gloomy face. So much has changed. He missed his home, the familiarity of singing chimes, the mountain air, the sweet innocent voices welcoming him. The river was still and led to no where.

Sophus looked at the mirror and back at Yao again. He recognized the new slave’s melancholy and cleared his throat before patting Yao softly on his back.

"Others would not be so kind," he warned, trying to distract him somehow. "But don't get intimidated for in the end, its your word above everyone else's." And without asking much of Yao's own past he continued. "Consider yourself the luckiest slave in the empire. Not a full work day has past and you have the power." He tsked lightly with a smirk. "To be honest, I'm quite frightened of you. You can easily use your looks to your advantage. Romulus as a weakness for pretty things and with his wife's death that weakness has increased tenfold."

Yao glanced at Sophus, squeezing the last bits of water out of his damp hair with a final twist. He straightened himself, standing a few centimeters taller than the old slave. “I am not intimidated,” he responded, frowning slightly. He sighed and relaxed himself, the new tunic felt soft and comfortable. The Daqin man was not so unkind. His slaves were well dressed and healthy. Perhaps his new job would be somewhat easier. At least they respected their master. “But… I will remember what you say,” he muttered. He paused, frowning and trying to piece together his thoughts in Latin. “I am not a tool,” he continued. “When I work, I work honestly.”

Sophus smirked and nodded his head in approval. “Call me Sophus,” the old slave responded. “Come, you will need to know where the children’s bedrooms are.”

Sophus led Yao back into the atrium, where Yao had noticed the four different doors on either sides of the front room. “The cubicula,” the old man announced, pointing to each beautifully carved door with richly painted and crafted doorways, each distinct yet even and orderly. “Hercules the eldest should sleep here,” Sophus explained opening the door to find a fairly clean and empty room save for the cat napping on the twisted sheets of a bed. Some unfinished, unpainted or unpolished marble sculptures are strewn about in an unorderly manner. “But you’d find him in the peristyle most of the time with his cats.”

 Sophus opens the next door. “This is Romano’s and I should say Feliciano’s as well. Feliciano usually seeks refuge with Romano at night, hence Romano’s bed frame is much bigger.” They skipped over Feliciano’s room and Sophus approached the last adjacent door with caution. “Marcello sleeps here,” he whispered, gesturing towards the year-old babe sleeping in a nest of pillows and blankets on a large bed. Yao had the urge to go over and caress a tiny fist. “He’s harmless when asleep and is a toddling Hermes when awake.” Yao nodded for the sake of nodding. He closed the door quietly in the same cautious manner.

Sophus walked Yao towards the tablinum again. “And this is where the master works, his cubicula is across there,” he explained, pointing towards the more ornate doors, standing tall and proud. Yao began to wonder for all the obsession for everything symmetrical, why could the Daqin not appreciate it’s simplicity? It seems to be not enough. From the gardens to the bedroom, everything must be grandiose. It was starting to become overwhelming. “We are not to enter unless summoned,” Sophus finished, gesturing for the Seres man to follow him when a male slave approached them with shears at hand.

“O! I should have come when your hair was more damp,” he said, showing off the tool. “That way cutting the hair would be easier.” He looked at Sophus with a small huff. “How come no one told me he was out of the bathing room?"

“NO.”

Both men turned to the Seres man who was taking a step back and clasping his hair as if they intended to take his life along with it. Yao shook his head. “No need to cut my hair,” he firmly stated. His pride, his connection to home. It was custom to wear it long, he had not cut it since he was a young adult. Women would pin their hair in pretty ornaments, proud men would tie it up, a strong symbol of their country.

"Its stupid if you think about it," the other man reasoned harshly, making an attempt to grab his wrist. "Why wear your hair long like an emperor's wife if you are just a slave doing housework!"

Yao hissed a few choice insults in his native tongue, his hand quicker than the growing frustration of the younger slave. Roman men kept their locks short and trimmed, it was custom. If this were any other slave Sophus would have let the other man have his way, but there was a sense of dread in his part. To become a Roman, one must act and look Roman, and Yao is head of domus so more reason to blend in. But then… Romulus might get angry if they did cut it. Sophus went wide eyed when Yao was just about to swipe the slave’s shears away.

“Stop!" Sophus shouted, tugging on the other slave's tunic. This resulted in the man turning around with a heavy frown. "There is a reason why Romulus did not ask us specifically to cut Yao's hair."

The other man shook his head. "Well, its obvious, we're not stupid! Every good man's hair should be short!" he argued.

Sophus gave him one final tug. "And yet you act so innocent!" he exclaimed. "You touch Octavius' pretty new toy and see how Octavius likes it."

Quietly the man relented, feeling Yao’s grip on his wrist loosen. He tugged his tunic free in turn.

"Head of domus," the slave scoffed bitterly. "A spoilt whore."

Sophus looked at Yao regretfully after the man left with his shears. "I didn't mean to degrade you like so," Sophus muttered. "But its to keep the peace." He sighed heavily. "Sometimes you have to tell them what they want to hear so they can leave you alone. I apologize."

Yao shook his head. “Do not apologize,” Yao muttered. “I thank you. My reputation was decided long before I arrived.” He sighed and felt his lips twitch up slightly for the first time in a long time. He was grateful someone was on his side. “We will work well together.”

And Sophus was grateful as well. Romulus, although spontaneous and rash, made a good choice. He nodded. “I agree,” he said, leading him out to give him a tour of the rest of the house.

“Octavius Marcellus is a wealthy and powerful man but he is fair,” Sophus began as he showed him the slaves’ quarters out near the peristyle. Humble in comparison to the Octavius’ household but adequate and clean. “You have more to fear from the other slaves than our master.” He chuckled at this. From what he seen with Yao trying to wrestle the shears out of the other slave’s hands, Yao was fearless. “Slaves generally do better here. Perhaps better than plebeians. I have seen many an unfortunate hungry freeman whose clothes were so threadbare that I’d be embarrassed to wear them in public.”

It was true, Yao had not a proper comparison but Sophus’ well-made tunic, groomed hair and slight chub was a healthy sight.

He looked down on his own ill-fitting and awkward tunic. "Will you show me to the sewing supplies?” he asks Sophus when the domus tour was done.

“We have a talented tailor,” the old slave responds. “Want your tunic to be altered?” He turned towards a hall which led to the kitchen.

“I can sew,” Yao said. He had learned to sew under his apprenticeship as silk merchant,

“Ah,” Sophus responds, stroking the stubble on his chin. “A useful skill. What else can you do?”

Yao felt himself smiling softly again. It was another thing he took for granted, to open up others on the smallest of things. It felt pleasant to talk to Sophus. He did not feel judged by this man when he spoke.

He told him he could perform basic housework, garden, cook as well as handle transactions, barter, and is familiar with the Roman numeral system. “I am not fluent in Latin,” Yao points out. “I am literate but not in your language.”

Sophus assures him that it would be just fine that he was clever and he would do well. “I came to this city knowing less than you,” he said. “You are doing well enough already.”

Yao settled on a cool, shady and lonely area of the gardens, sewing materials at hand. It was calm and Yao was able to work in peace. Save for the cat that suddenly brushed past his legs. Yao nearly dropped his shears at the sudden intruding sensation, not that it wasn’t welcomed. Yao watched curiously as the cat disappeared into the hedges. Yao shook his head fondly and went back to work. Sophus had left him here for it was the quietest section of the peristyle. He straddled the marble bench and worked on altering his second tunic in focused silence.

* * *

Any other day and Romulus would have been out consulting business with his clients, storeowners who rented his many locations in the city. He rubbed his temples as he looked at the papers scrawled with many figures of the complicated Roman numeral nature. Everything were all profits and payments made, organized and recorded months before. Yet he hovered over the desk trying not to think of the slave from Seres.

The window spilled sunlight into his office through lightly tinted glass, one of the first of its kind and terribly expensive. Still, it did not warm the room like it used to. He ran his fingers through his curls for the thousandth time as his leg bounced in place. There was no way he was pinning away for the Seres beauty as if he were young man again. While he wasn't old, he had experienced life well enough to know the differences between the fluttering in his stomach from infatuation and the churning unease from illness. He was supposed to know what to do about it. Romulus shook his head, realizing then that the reason why he stayed in his office longer was because of him.

To steal one more glance. Romulus peeked out of the office and saw the hallways empty. Because the raven hair and the gentle face was hard to forget. Romulus walked onto marbled floors, his footsteps echoing solemnly across the hallways.

Interestingly enough, the fact that he "owned" Yao didn't cross his mind.

He had always waited for his wife to say yes. Her approval, consent and enthusiasm was worth waiting for. He hardly made a decision without her opinion. And if she said no, they were often willing to collaborate. To come into a consensus. He was a person of action, she was a person of thought. It worked well enough together. Two forces pulling side to side in a balanced rhythm.

Surely, a piece of him was missing but he really wasn't looking for someone else to fell that emptiness. For now he will just settle on looking at Yao and admiring him from afar.

It was Sophus who found him. Romulus was snapped out of his daydreaming to glance at the old man approaching him from the peristyle. Sophus was more than willing to share all that he learned from the new slave to him.

"You are quite good," Romulus stated. "I knew I can trust you for breaking in new slaves."

Sophus smirked. "I'm not done yet you know," he said. "As with all people who traveled long enough away from home, Yao only needed a friendly ear.  Ah, is there anything else you would like to know of... of the wooing nature?"

Romulus blushed lightly. "No, no, no need," he calmly answered. "I would like to ah, figure that out myself." It shouldn't be that hard. Why, Romulus has years of flirt and play on his side! The Seres youth wouldn't know what's coming to him!

"Has he eaten?" Romulus asked and Sophus grew wide eyed. "We were having such friendly talk I forgot to give him any!" he admitted. He began to dismiss himself, pausing first with one finger raised. "He is good natured, treat him kind and you'll have no trouble with him."

"Very well then,” Romulus nodded.

Sophus returned to Yao with an announcement that he was to eat with a few other slaves on a break. He was given much more food of course with extra vegetables and stewed meat.

"We need to add strength to those bones," Sophus told Yao.

Yao picked at the unfamiliar vegetables and the new flavors and smells of the meat. It was rich in taste like his own cooking but new and strange on his tongue.

The other slaves gandered at Yao on occasion but kept to themselves for the time being.

"You will get your own room to sleep in, in the servant's quarters,” Sophus continued. “Your first job here will be to mop down the floors of the dining room. Nothing too hard is it? Your first and last assignment for the day."

Yao set his near empty bowl down. “Show me where to find supplies."

After another slave clears up the tables, Sophus taught Yao how to use certain cleaning tools, which weren’t at all difficult to use but he knew it was kind to show Yao the “proper” Roman way to clean.

Yao hikes up his awkward fitting tunic and began sweeping the floor. The debris disposed of outside than simply just pushed into the corners and under the rugs. Meanwhile, Sophus leans against the doorway, on stand by when Yao needed help moving furniture.

It was a bit of work and took longer than expected but Yao managed to make the floor appear spotless.

“Well done,” Sophus praised, clapping Yao’s back as the Seres man dabbed beads of sweat with the collar of his tunic. Yao smiled in response, feeling more satisfied than he was willing to admit.

It was dark and the night young but Sophus dismissed Yao for now. He led him to the slave’s quarters, where he was to have his own little room as head of domus. “It's been some time since someone used this room,” Sophus sighs, inspecting the untidiness of the room. “I only ask that it’d be tidied up.” Yao nods quietly and with the aide of Sophus and by the light a small oil lamp, the floors were swept, the sheets dusted and crate of pomegranates moved to the kitchen.

When they were done, Yao hesitates but gives and meaningful bow to Sophus, who stood by puzzled yet amused all the same. Yao’s long hair remained cascaded down for a few moments before he straightened himself up and kept his gaze down as all good people do in his home. “Thank you,” Yao said sincerely. “You have been kind.”

Sophus chuckled warmly and patted Yao’s shoulder. “Sleep well. You can come to me if you need anything.”

Yao nodded once and settled into his bed with a small sigh. It's been so long since he's had a proper night's sleep, but there was far too much on his mind. How will he gain respect among the other servants? Will he be able to do a proficient job at keeping them in line? What will Octavius require from him if he is to attend to him personally?

Most importantly, will he ever be able to go home? Will he ever see Xiao or Mei again? He had promised to bring Xiao a spinning top from India and Mei a flowered hairpiece. Throughout this whole ordeal, he hasn't allowed himself much time to think of the two children he's come to think of as his own. Both were orphans, but he had been close to their parents before a sickness ran through their village and claimed them. Yao misses them dearly and his chest tightened as he wonders if they feel like they've lost another important person. Do they still hold onto the hope that he's alive? Xiao likely doesn't. He's sure the boy is trying to act tough for his sister, although she's tough enough on her own. All he can do is pray that somehow he'll be able to see their faces once again.

His pursed lips trembled, his grip tightening on the cool sheets. He had not cried, not once. Not when he was bound and forced into submission, not when that _monster_ forced himself in him night after night that week when he was bought by him. He covered his mouth and let out a choked sob. He simply did not have the time to grieve. These past few tortuous months just kept him busy and now, surrounded by the warmth of a friendly smile and promise of a new pleasant life…

Yao felt awful.

* * *

And so went Romulus' day, reviewing old receipts, writing down notes and planning for the evening dinner with the senators which would occur in a week's time. He really should have thought it through, appointing Yao suddenly like so. Yao would officially be head of domus then. The Seres beauty would have to present himself and serve his guests.

Romulus shook his head as he thought about a particular group of 3 men that would certainly be attending. They had to be reminded each time that his maids and his young servant men are off limits. They were the type that Romulus wouldn't mind facing the battlefield, for he wanted the chance to stick his dagger into their chests. They thought the world owed them a favor because they existed. Romulus thought they were better off dead. Yet as with all things, they were close friends with the emperor's favorites and he certainly had to please them if he wanted to secure a position in the senate. His thoughts went to Yao again and already, his mind burned with anger at the thought of them making an unwanted advancement towards Yao. Romulus would have to warn him in due time. He stood up and shuffled towards the family shrine to cool himself off.

Romulus smiled warmly at the weekly offerings there. Losing their mother was a traumatic experience for the children and all of them coped differently. He paid homage to Juno before setting his eyes on the cold representation of his beloved wife. Her eyes were never dead like that.

He sighed and took the spoiling fig that was attracting flies and the dead flowers, disposing those. He went back to the shrine and took the few folded letters near the bust. Romulus opened the letters and smiled warmly.

 _I love you forever mama_ , it was written in childish penmanship, _your second littlest son Feliciano Octavius_.

There were some few spelling errors here and there but Romulus was nonetheless proud. Feliciano was getting better. The only regret was trying to think of when the boy had written to him last. He was such a bright and proud boy. Writing endearments along with "inventory lists" of the domus, taking note of how many cats Hercules had in total, or how many figs were left so they can buy more. Romulus sighed. Feliciano stopped writing to him when his mother died, now dedicating his time to write to her. He missed his son's letters but he knew there was reason why Feliciano focused on letter writing to his mama, and he was to blame…

_You can keep correspondence with your mother!_

The boy was perched on his hip. Romulus dried tears with his silks. He embraced him, but how he wished he could hold him closer.

 _H-how can I? She-she's_ hic! _she's dead!_

_Well you know you can send her letters and placing the note around her likeness. By doing so, you are inviting the messenger god Mercury into our home and he is the one that takes letters and delivers them to our beloved dead._

_R-really? She's gonna write back?_

_I'm afraid not, but cheer up little mouse. She's going to read every single letter in the Underworld and she will know how much you and your brothers still love her so that one day, in the far, far future, your souls will reunite and she's going to have all your letters with her!_

_Yeah?_

_She will give you the biggest welcome in response wouldn't you like that?_

Now Romulus tasked himself to clean and remove all letters at the shrine every night before he went to bed. His slaves let him do it. They won't dare disturb him then.

Because he is practically doing a god's job. A god's job he made up for himself, but that did not keep it from becoming a sacred ritual. And Romulus was damn well sure he was going to earn Mercury's favor if he keeps this up.

Romulus stored the precious letters in a small plain box out of reach in one of his many shelfs.

Sophus and two other slaves attended to him that night. They changed him into light comfortable clothing, prepared his small evening merenda of honey cakes and watered down wine. Romulus ate on his sofa as he did not want crumbs on his bed. He raised his palm, and the slaves stood by.

"Yao is be my new attendant in the morning, afternoon and evenings," he told Sophus specifically. "You will show him how I like things to go every morning, he is to serve me and my sons afternoon meals and attend to me in the evening."

Sophus nodded. "Will he be doing this for the week or-?"

Romulus bowed his head slightly. "As a head of domus, he will be my personal attendant only at those times."

More time spent with Yao. More excuses to strike conversation with him.

Feliciano slipped out of his bedroom and padded over to the atrium with a little note in hand. He gave up on trying to see if he could see Mercury for himself a while ago so he settled in placing notes in his mother's shrine whenever he pleased. They were not so much letters of endearment anymore but rather a journal of sorts. Writing his thoughts and feelings on the day's events.

_Pater has a new slave today. Hercules called him a bad word. He is pretty and scary, like how you were at times. I promised to stay out of his way but if he talks to me I will talk to him back! I wonder if he likes figs like you and me!_


	3. Mane Novum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is obvious I cannot manage a new chapter a week but I can assure you I am not planning to stop working on this anytime soon.
> 
> A special thanks to all who left kudos, it helps so damn much! And an ayy to my homie bulletincookie who I still go and bother about Ancient Roman things. Which by the way, I've taken some liberties on when it comes to domestic life, yikes!
> 
> Honest reviews, constructive critiques are always welcome (cough, especially in the topic of more accurate/reasonable names, cough), kudos will help this writer get a much needed writer power boost. Enjoy!

Feliciano hopped onto the cushioned bed, throwing the light sheets up and above him. A half-asleep Romano grunted in response. The little boy smiled and shivered, tucking the blankets tighter under his chin even if it was a particularly warm night. He curled up next to his brother’s unwelcoming back.

Feliciano had shivered from the excitement, whether it was from completing his most precious task of the night or from the day’s unusual turn of events, he would not know. All he knew was that he was not quite sleepy yet for his mind worked through thought after perplexing thought, all concerning his mother, his father, and the new slave from Serica.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the painted ceiling. The dull plaster was brightened with images of ripe grapes, twisted vines, citrus fruits and galloping stallions; all of Romano’s favorite things. A majestic Apollo with his sun chariot guarded the elegantly barred window, kissed with the light of his sister moon.

Some dog barked in a distant neighbor’s domus, disturbing the light peace.

“Romano?” Feliciano whispered.

Romano sighed heavily in response.

“Do you think mamma would like the new slave?” Feliciano asked. He could not see Romano’s eyes open and expression scrunch up in a frown.

“Pater seems to like him a lot,” the little pudgy boy continued. His chilled little toes curling around each other. “Mamma always liked seeing pater happy, remember? He would be happy and she would be happy. And when she would be sad, pater would—“

“I don’t care!” Romano spun around under the sheets to glare at him. Feliciano turned and scooted away on instinct. Romano huffed. “Shut up and go to sleep or I’m kicking you out of my bed and onto the floor!”

Feliciano looked at him with a small pout. Any other night, Romano’s words would be a harmless threat, but Feliciano knew better. He could see it in in his brother’s eyes. That perfect mix of his father’s golds and his mother’s greens, glaring at him with hurt and anger.

“Sorry,” Feliciano muttered regretfully.

Romano scoffed and tugged his sheets over himself more forcefully, turning to give his brother his unwelcoming back once again. Feliciano gave him his back in turn.

Romano did not have letters or offerings to cope. When his mother died, it seemed she had taken his patience with her. His adopted bravado attitude made him seem unapproachable, but it was clear that he was a far more sensitive spirit. Covering his feelings with bouts of anger and tough words was only being done in vain. He let out a long sigh, willing himself not to cry.

And as the stars glittered above, Heracles remained below, his arms cradling his neck and head and his cats warming his chest. He swung lazily in the makeshift hammock he constructed between two pomegranate trees, already hung from big ripening fruits. Soon, his father would complain of the heat. The slaves would pack up their things and they would leave to their villa where the air was cooler near the shore.

The stars winked at him as they disappeared and reappeared between the branches with each swing. Heracles wondered how the stars, mysterious, revered and vast as they were, were easily obstructed from view by a simple leaf.

It was best to dwell in these aimless thoughts. Anything to distract himself from the mother that he lost and the only real friend he had and distanced himself from. His soft swinging came to a standstill. His friend once told him that he was under those same stars no matter where he was, using them as guides to cross seas and deserts.

And always return to him.

Heracles let out a light fond scoff. The idiot. What a selfish way to make it seem that he was always there, winking at him, spreading that toothy, sparkling grin of his and telling him even more idiotic, selfish things. _We’d travel the world you and I_. Heracles pushed at the floor with the ball of his foot, gently swaying the hammock again. He wondered if his mother would approve of him comparing stars to that of his friend’s gaze above him.

* * *

Yao let out a startled gasp and immediately sat upright. His tussled long hair swishing behind him. He groaned softly as he rubbed his sore, tired eyes. The source of the nightly disturbance wailed again. Octavius’ youngest was having a troublesome night too. Yao felt his heart quicken at the sound for he was reminded of a time when Xiao and Mei were younger, and his babes so newly adopted, would cry for him, frightened to spend the first nights alone.

Yao sighed. Surely, a nursemaid would tend to the little one. He grunted as he settled down on his cot again and pulled a sheet over him. The babe continued, making Yao frown. He could not help but feel a certain tug towards the cry. After all, he had his fair share of colicky, feverish, or fussy nights. He could be of help, no matter his current place in the household.

Just as Yao had made up his mind, sitting up and smoothing his hair down to be at least somewhat presentable to the rest of the household, the wails quieted down. Yao relaxed his shoulders, staring wistfully at the closed door. The cries, although softened now, did not quite stop, even as Yao lay his head on the pillow again. He closed his eyes, though he could not sleep.

* * *

Yao rose with the sun. Coming from an agricultural village, it was habit above everything. If he woke up early as a silk merchant, the more road he was able to travel. Today, waking up as a slave, it was simply expected, Yao knew. And sure enough, Sophus was summoning him just as he slipped into his altered tunic.

The kitchen was just beginning to rise as well. The warmth coming from freshly burning timber in the ovens to bake the bread. Some younger slaves were wiping down counters and bowls. A casket of wine was being brought in by a much larger slave and a few others fretted over a cat whose fangs carried a dead mouse. Yao looked over and noted how the Daqin did not have tealeaves or rice at hand, a staple in his village. Despite all the initial focus on their work, Yao could not help but notice that their eyes tended to linger on him as he approached them. It was something he needed to get used to, he supposed, no matter how unsettling it was.

Sophus approached him with a tray bearing a light meal. One consisting of bread, cheese, sliced pear and milk. It was unlike the breakfasts he had back home, meals he had taken for granted, although that pear was a welcome sight.

“Is this my master’s morning meal?” Yao asked.

“No,” Sophus chuckled quite amusedly. “That is yours. You can’t serve your master without energy, can you?” He also needed to build his physique and add fat to his cheeks but Sophus didn’t bother pointing that out loud.

Yao looked at the tray in disbelief, his thin brow contorting in worry and gratitude. The slave traders had rarely given him food that would suffice the amount of traveling they’d do. All he could remember was thickly swallowing dry bread and the rare piece of jerky that they probably stole from other merchants for months on end. With two good meals for two days straight and the mere fact that he is expected to eat before he worked was enough to make him feel a little overwhelmed. And to Yao, this tray was a feast fit for an emperor.

“Although I would sit further away from the rest of them,” Sophus muttered in confidence. “You haven’t been exactly, er, officially _welcomed_ here.”

Yao meekly nodded, still looking at the food, _his_ food. Did he even eat this well at home? Yao briefly wondered if this was a cruel and clever mind-trick played by the master. Always feed your slaves better food than what they could have back home. Why would they escape such a place?

Escape. Perhaps Yao can better mull things over when he has had his first filling meal of the day.

“I rather not,” Yao answered. “If I am to be head of domus, I sit with my fellow slaves.”

He took his seat amidst the calm, steady early morning bustle of the kitchen, where a few others, the nursemaids and such, were having an equally light breakfast on well-worn table and chairs. They stopped their conversations to look on at the boldness of the Seres man. Even the cook and her assistant stopped washing the lentils to have a gander.

A moment of silence passed before a young slave, the man who had tried cutting Yao’s hair yesterday, stood up defiantly and walked away. “I may be a slave and he my future superior but I don’t sit with his kind,” he announced. One or two others followed his lead with bitter scowls of their own. Yao tore a piece of his bread and reveled in its warm softness.

Everyone else continued about their business, leaving the Seres man alone for now. Sophus served himself his share and sat across from Yao. The nursemaids did not bother to budge for they were exhausted after a night spent dealing with Marcello’s habitual crying.

Sophus began to eat calmly. "Were you born a freeman Yao?" he asked, acting as if the tense moment had not occurred at all. Yao swallowed his food to answer, but his focus was set on the nursemaids’ conversation.

"He cries when he doesn't need to," the youngest of the three pouted. "You think he cries for the mother he never knew?"

“Perhaps someone gave him the Evil Eye,” the other muttered. “That’s right, we took him to the market without his bulla some days ago! The nerve of some people!”

Europa tsked and drank her water, her brow furrowing deeper than usual.  "Give him to me and I will give him a reason to cry."

Now it was Yao’s turn to frown deeply, concentrating on her tone of voice. The implication! Whatever she does for discipline, must be reserved for discipline. The babe cannot be put to blame for his own faults. Yao cannot recall when he swatted Xiao and Mei because they cried for no apparent reason. In fact, there was always a reason why they cried, he as the guardian needed to find out what.

In his growing frustration, Yao stood up with his hands on the table to keep him steady. He turned to Europa with a glare, his mind whirring to work a sentence into Latine speech. “You will not touch that child,” he muttered, stumbling over a word once. “If you attend to children, you see that he is.”

Old Europa had met his glare, her frown never faltering in the brief confrontation. Her pride injured for being called out by the master’s whore.

“The child sleeps well during the day,” Yao continued, softening his tone. “Because he is not sleeping well at night. At night he lulls himself to sleep by crying himself hoarse. He needs company. He needs to feel safe.”

Because that is what Xiao and Mei did. They had learnt to sleep in their beds on their own.

This, however, contradicted Europa’s views on childrearing entirely. She scoffed and crossed her arms. “What do you know about children?” she sneered. The nursemaids looked down in shame, for they were told by her to not tend to the child so quickly when he cried. Certainly, Octavius has not opposed this, but when was he ever present for his children?

“Enough,” Yao answered sternly, his eyes narrowing at the older woman. It was clear neither of them was going to back down. Another brief yet tense, quiet moment and one by one, the slaves returned to their business. Yao relaxed his shoulders and looked down to his plate. He could not afford to waste energy on a bitter slave.

Sophus cleared his throat, and returned to his plate, his previous question set aside for now while the Seres man ate in silence.

And as the morning sun rose higher and the slave’s dining table cleared to begin other chores, Sophus approached Yao once more with another tray. “This is the master’s morning meal,” he explained. The tray had also a modest amount of food, similar to what he had just eaten. Yao rose a brow at this. The only item of luxury was a spoon dipped in a glob golden honey, ready to eaten or stirred into his milk.

“You will deliver this to his bedside,” Sophus nodded when Yao carefully balanced the tray with his hands. He followed Sophus out and down past the tablinum and into the grand cubicula after two short knocks.

The room was not much larger than the sons’ cubicula but the décor in the walls were more ornate and displayed beautiful scenery of some distant cliffside villa where waves rolled calmly onto shores and grapevines grew in neat rows on hillsides. The images seemed to lead the eyes to the center of the room, and there, the master's bed stood with twisted sheets covering a sun-kissed man laying stomach-down. He stirred only slightly in response to the brightening sun bleeding through barred windows. Yao lowered his gaze, out of respect of course, nothing to do with the fact that master apparently slept naked. Well, actually, it has all to do with the fact that the master slept naked.

Romulus rose when he pleased, that is, if the slaves will let him. He relied on their promptness to wake and get ready for the day. Had his wife been alive, he would have been coaxed out of pleasant slumber with kisses or harsh shoves, sometimes a bit of both. The slaves that had once attended to his wife to her morning duties now prepared breakfast for the children, leaving Sophus and no more than two other slaves to bring him his light breakfast and to help dress him in his toga.

Yao minded his own as he stood by with the breakfast tray at hand. Romulus peered blearily through the sheets when he dully sensed someone nearby. His gold eyes squinting, trying to readjust to the sudden brightness and the darker figure of the person at his side. Romulus was soon focusing on the beautiful creature before him, dutifully waiting on him.

He preferred the morning meal in bed, mostly because he can, but also because he rather not spend breakfast in the dining room alone with the children. Breakfast and dinner times were always shared with the light of his wife’s eyes and the laughter of his children in the room.

But enough of that, what mattered was the now, and now he had a new slave to woo.

Romulus rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn, stretching his legs and arms until he felt relieving pops.

So perhaps he made a bit of a grand show of flexing his biceps somewhat, keeping his eyes half lidded, ruffling his bed ragged curls and hoped the "morning look" looked rather good on him. He only hoped that the sheets covered the parts where it mattered only to appear all the more enticing. He hid a smug smirk and let the slave imagine the rest.

However it took Yao a moment to realize what Romulus was doing, or rather intending to do. He could not help but raise his hand over his mouth as if he were covering a cough to brush away the amused scoff that escaped his throat. Romulus reminded him of the men in the days of his youth, those clearly flustered fools who’d use shows of physical prowess to impress him. Had he had the chance, he would have taken himself back to the bamboo forest where he’d meet with one who eventually did impress him.

Yao placed the tray gingerly on Romulus’ lap and awaited with hands folded in front for more orders. Sophus then cleared his throat and beckoned for Yao to follow him. With eyes cast down, Yao bowed his head swiftly in self-dismissal and quietly sauntered off with that curious soundless footfalls.

Admittedly, Romulus was disappointed when he did not see a teasing blush, a small visible hint of fluster, in response to Romulus' showing off. Why, if he were Yao's age again, he would have been no redder than the skin of a pomegranate. Romulus did not consider himself vain, but he was confident in his overall look and form. He knew. He worked hard to achieve his current strong stature, yet he seldom used it unless it was entirely necessary. Like now, which didn’t garner the deserved attention.

Sophus allowed himself the wide smile he was hiding in respect of his master’s presence. Even with a slight shake of his shoulders to let out a small chuckle. This affirmed Yao of his suspicions, which made Yao smile pleasantly as well. But Sophus did not comment on it, so Yao kept his silence.

Sophus led him to a sort of storage room of sorts, one with hanging silken robes of colors only reserved for the elite. Even Yao hung his mouth slightly open in awe of the expensive colors Romulus owned. “You will learn how to wrap a toga,” Sophus explained, taking one with red stripes at the end. He stretched and hummed in approval. "There are different ways to do it,” he continued. “It depends on what our boss is going to do today. Well, today he will be out to meet with senators so the form will be more dignified. His preference really."

Yao nodded, adjusting his tunic, and followed the old Greek outside toward the peristyle.

Sophus collected all they needed from a few slaves finishing laundry that was supposed to be done yesterday. Sophus rolled his eyes at their imprudence, carrying the carefully folded silks on his arm and made Yao carry Octavius’ clean sandals. "Because of that they are going to have a late breakfast and when one has a late breakfast they become irritable and when one snaps the whole household is put in a foul mood." He let out a scoff. "This is what you have to work with."

They reenter Romulus’ bedroom with as much caution as before only to find him nearly finished with his breakfast. He slipped the spoon out of his mouth with a clean, loud pop and placed all the used utensils aside. He was ready to be dressed by Yao.

Only Yao hesitated and Sophus noticed this and turned to Romulus. “I must show him how first,” he explained and Romulus sat at the edge of the bed with a simple sigh. Yao hesitantly took a step forward to pass Sophus the sandals, trying to focus on how he tied them and not so much on the master. When the sandals were tied, Romulus stood up tall and proud so that Sophus could begin helping him to slip into his clothes. Yao watched to learn, _tried_ to learn.

He tried focusing on the manner in which Sophus wrapped the silk around Romulus’ waist and shoulders. Those shoulders carried strength indeed, his inflated proud chest helped him notice the scars littered about and the patches of hair that grew on all the right places. To deny he was handsome was an outrageous lie, even Yao knew that. He must have been a soldier of some kind in his past. He wasn’t so young for this to be untrue.

“Tomorrow you will do this,” Romulus commented with Sophus’ affirming nod. Romulus gestured lazily at Yao’s altered attire. Yao's own body wasn't at all impressive, but that was expected. Romulus knew how most slaves were treated by bad dealers. Nothing to cry about now, he would provide Yao with high quality food and clothes. He would get better, appear healthier and perhaps then, get him to blush for him. The shine of his hair was something of his that was already repaired.

“And you would get rid of that tunic,” he continued. "It is only proper for the head of domus to present himself as Roman as he can be."

Yao looked down on himself subconsciously and found truth in Romulus’ words. Surprising how the master was not exactly offended because of alterations made to his tastes. Yao nodded. “Yes Octavius,” he muttered.

Romulus allowed himself a small smile at the sound of Yao saying his name. “I won't return until late evening today," Romulus added. "Sophus, make sure my boys don't run into trouble. They are not allowed out unless they notify you first." As if Romulus needed to worry about daily excursions. The twins are not allowed out on their own unless accompanied by their elder brother and two, particularly strong, male servants. If Hercules did not wish to go out, none of them were allowed out. The only exception is of course attending their school which was a few blocks worth of walking down towards the city.

Sophus and Yao accompanied Romulus to the front door where the gatekeeper wished a sort of blessing from Mercury for safe travels and good business to come their master’s way. Romulus personally felt lucky as Yao was there standing at the door before he left and will be at the door when he arrived.

Sophus smiled at Yao. “That went quite well,” he commented. “Now, it’s time to serve the children.”

 

 


End file.
